


Americas Favorite Pastime isn't Baseball

by 74days



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Remembers, Frottage, I Blame Tumblr, I tried to stay true to the movies, Internalized Homophobia, Like I'm working my way through the whole damn card, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Steve and Bucky are happy, for like 5 seconds, kink bingo, minimal man pain, there isn't really plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:37:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/74days/pseuds/74days
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve takes off on a road trip after the events on the Helicarrier - disillusioned with S.H.I.E.L.D and needing to get away. He suspects he is being followed, but when he wakes up with the Winter Soldier in his room, things go a little differently than he expected.<br/>Shameless fluff filled PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Americas Favorite Pastime isn't Baseball

Steve wasn’t sure why he thought that taking off on an extended break with everything falling apart around his ears was a good idea. He knew Fury was… well… not exactly happy about his plan.

“We are being faced with a threat the likes of which we haven’t seen since the war, and you think this is a good time to ‘take some leave’?” His voice was incredulous. “I don’t think I have to remind you about the current situation?” He waved a hand around the Bunker, and Steve had squared his shoulders and stood his ground.

He’d been following orders for a long time now – but seeing Bucky (the man who used to be Bucky) had been… well, calling it ‘hard’ would have been the understatement of his life. He felt like his world was falling apart around his ears. Bucky had been alive the whole time Steve thought he was dead – worse, he was being used, used like some rabid animal – and Steve hadn’t **_known_**.

He wasn’t sure if Fury had known, but it seemed unlikely that the Super Spy didn’t know what his enemies were doing. Who they were using to do it. It was that, that unsure feeling in the pit of his stomach that had given him the strength to walk away. At this point he wasn’t sure if he’d ever go back.

He knew the car was being tracked, so as soon as he could, he swapped the sleek modern model for an older style car. The guy who’d taken it had gotten the best out of the deal, Steve knew – but it was worth it for the freedom. The illusion of freedom, at least – he still carried his Stark phone, and he was pretty sure that you could trace the money he took out with the card they’d given him. Despite that, he felt free.

* * *

 

He spent the first night in a motel that was by modern standards worn out and dingy, but Steve remembered a room with two beds and a single radiator that was never quite working enough to throw heat out, so he was pleased with what he found. A simple twin room and it even had its own small kitchenette area.

He had no destination in mind, no point of interest that he particularly wanted to see. He might catch a ball game, if he saw one. He might visit a beach, or see the great lakes.

The room was quiet and warm, and the bed wasn’t quite as comfortable as the one in his DC apartment, but it was few steps up from a military bunk, or the frozen ground inside a tent – he fell asleep quickly enough.

He woke up the next morning with his covers kicked off, too warm in room. He was sure he’d left the thermostat low, but it had been jacked up all night, blowing hot air into the room like a furnace. The other bed had his duffle bag thrown on it, just like he’d left it. In the half light of the morning, it almost looked like the imprint of a body.

Steve pulled on his jogging pants and training shoes and smiled sadly to himself.

The room reminded him so much of another one, another time, that he was starting to see shadows of his past – a past where the other bed was used, and his best friend was already awake and gone down to see if there were any shifts he could pick up at the docks.

He ran around the town, feet pounding the sidewalk. Not many people were around, too early for the morning rush of commuters, only the odd store open. It was so different from how it used to be. Back when he’d been a kid a town like this would have been bustling already, small stores owned by people you knew – mom & pop stores they were called now. As he ran, all he saw were branded names and chain stores.

He didn’t run for long, just enough to loosen off his muscles from the drive the day before and get some air in his lungs.

He showered, the slightly damp towels waiting for him made him cringe a little, because he didn’t want to think of the questionable hygiene of the place he was staying, and checked out.

He drove till the sun was high and the city was completely out of his sight – and stopped at the first non-branded diner he found.

“What can I getcha?” The plump older woman asked him as he sat himself down in the plastic booth.

“The house special.” He replied, mouth working independently of his brain, “Two of everything, if that’s okay with you, ma’am.”

She smiled at him, which reminded him of Tony – convinced that the grandmothers of America couldn’t resist his wholesome corn-fed image. Another voice, much longer ago, saying something similar about his god-fearing expression.

“You expectin’ someone else?” She enquired.

“No, m’am, just eat a lot.” He smiled, smiled wider when she laughed.

“Oh, you growing lads.” She said, shaking her head at him as she walked away. “Bottomless pits.”

* * *

 

The food was good, and there was lots of it. Steve drove on with a comfortably full feeling in his stomach and just kept driving until the light started to fade.

Another room, another empty bed across from his, another morning run followed by damp towels and another morning of diner food to keep him going.

* * *

 

Things though, were falling into place. He knew he wasn’t being followed, but he also knew that not every motel he stayed in would have damp towels, and that the heat didn’t turn itself up after he fell asleep each night. He also didn’t think that Fury had enough manpower to send someone to keep an eye on him, which left him with a couple of options.

That morning, he withdrew as much cash as he could from the Autoteller, and carefully wrote down the three contact numbers stored in his Stark mobile phone, and tossed it into the trashcan.

Then he drove some more.

* * *

 

For three days, nothing changed. The one morning he woke up – blankets kicked off and a thin layer of sweat over his skin – and the other bed was occupied.

Bucky wasn’t sleeping, but he was lying flat on his back, eyes open and fixed on the flaking paint on the ceiling.

Steve stared at him, scared to move, scared almost to **_breathe_** , just in case he vanished into air. It seemed unlikely that Bucky (or the man that wore his skin) wasn’t aware he was awake, but still Steve just lay there, watching.

The sun rose slowly, filling the room with warm light that seemed at odds with the harsh lines on Bucky’s face. Gone was the playful softness Steve remembered from before the war, when they’d share a room not unlike the one they were in now.

“Did we live in a motel?” His voice was soft, unsure, when he finally spoke. Steve wasn’t sure if he wanted hear that voice, Bucky’s voice, coming from the hard mouth of this... new person. Even the accent was... wrong – not quite settled, a strange edge to the rolling Brooklyn brogue.

“No.” He replied after a few moments. “You rented a room. It had two beds like this.” Steve tried to keep his voice even, calm, his heart beating too fast, just like it used to before they’d turned him into a symbol of patriotic duty. “We shared a kitchen with three other guys. There was a bathroom at the end of the hall.”

“You didn’t pay.”

“No.” Steve said. “You paid.”

“We aren’t family.”

“Close as.” Steve said; hurt colouring his tone even as he fought to keep his voice as neutral as possible. “Best friends.”

“It was always cold.”

Steve wanted desperately to agree, but he didn’t want to change the facts to fit with Bucky’s memories. He could only answer honestly. “In the winter it was always freezing, but the summer – it got so hot that we’d have to sleep with the window open and we’d lay on top of our beds sleep like that.”

“You got sick.”

“I always got sick.” Steve said. “I was sick all the time.”

“I worried.”

“I think you did.” Steve agreed. “You used to tell me you never worried ‘cause you knew I was too stubborn to die, but I think you worried.”

Bucky hadn’t moved, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. His eyes weren’t kholled up any more, his hair had some shine to it that wasn’t grease, his clothes were no-descript and plain – he wore a hoodie not unlike the one that Steve had folded neatly on the chair. The only thing that seemed out of place was the glint of his hand in the morning light. Metal visible. If it wasn’t for that, Steve might have forgotten that this was the same man who’d tried to kill him.

“I don’t want to go back.” His voice was quiet, so quiet that Steve almost didn’t hear him talk. Maybe he would have missed it, but for how every cell in his body was desperately clinging to everything he could.

“You can stay with me.” Steve replied, aware that maybe he’d been too quick to reply. “I don’t want to go back either.”

* * *

 

Steve didn’t go running that morning. He sat on the end of the bed while Bucky had a shower – worried that if he left Bucky would be gone when he got back. The damp towels made more sense.

* * *

 

He had no idea how Bucky had been travelling – but Steve had the only car in the parking lot. Bucky got into the passenger side gracefully; he had no bags to put into the trunk.

“I was just driving.” Steve told him, when he started the engine and pulled out onto the street. “I didn’t have a destination in mind.”

“I know.” Bucky said, and then he closed his eyes and that was the last thing he said to Steve that day.

* * *

 

They ate in diners, Bucky eating whatever Steve ate. No one recognised them, or if they did, they kept well enough away. Most of the day he would sit in the passenger seat with his eyes closed as Steve drove until it was time to eat or time to sleep. Sometimes he would ask questions.

“Am I Russian?”

“No, you’re from Indiana.” Steve replied. “You were born in Shelbyville. You moved to Brooklyn when you were 8.”

Another day: “Is your asthma gone?”

“Yes, Bucky. The serum took care of that.”

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Steve started running in the mornings after the first week, not because he knew Bucky wouldn’t leave, but because he needed to be **_alone_**. He needed time to process that although the man who slept in the bed next to his, the man who sat in the passenger side of the beat up car... wasn’t the man Steve wanted him to be.

He felt like he was being unfair, selfish, desperately gripping on to a man that was dead – all that was left was a face, and even that too, was different. He was a horrible person – but Steve still wanted him. Still wanted... things he wasn’t supposed to want.

People expected Captain America to be selfless. Doing good by everyone. Wholesome. Whole. Steve Rogers had a gaping wound in his soul, and he was trying to use the most broken person he’d ever met to fill it.

The park in the small town Steve couldn’t even remember the name of, blending seamlessly into a long line of almost identical places, had a kiddies softball game going. It was still a pretty new thing before he’d gone to war – not quite baseball, but not bad.

He stopped running, and sat down at one of the empty picnic benches that dotted around the park. No one paid him any mind, parents too busy watching their kids play, cheering at the slightest thing. It made him smile.

“Never could pass a game.” Bucky (not Bucky) said, appearing from somewhere on his left, sitting down on the bench beside him. He was holding a cup of coffee in his metal hand. Steve hated himself for noticing the artfully placed hole in the knee of Bucky’s jeans. Steve could see skin. He looked away. It wasn’t Bucky. Even if it **_was_** Bucky, Steve shouldn’t notice.

“America’s favourite pastime.” He answered automatically.

“Still?”

“Still.” The silence stretched out, someone hit the ball, parents cheered. “I think so, anyway. No one told me different.”

Bucky (not **_Bucky_** , damnit, Steve!) laughed. It was the first time he’d laughed in Steve’s presence. It hurt like a punch, a physical thing.

“You never could hit the ball worth a damn.”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were skinnier than the bat, Stevie.”

“Was not.” Steve said, frowning.

“Were too.”

“Jerk.”

“Punk.”

* * *

 

It took Steve longer to work it out than it should have. It took him almost three days to work it out. Three days of getting weird looks from the man in the bed next to him, three days of driving through one small town after another. Three days.

He slammed the breaks, hard – serum or not, the snap of his body against the seatbelt was going to bruise.

“Did you call me a punk?” He said, once he’d been able to take a breath that didn’t hurt like hell. Thank god the road was deserted.

“Are you gonna sock me if I did?” Bucky (actually Bucky!) wheezed. “Or were you hoping I’d go through the glass?”

“But you...” Steve fought to keep his calm. “You were... not...” He twisted his body it the seat so he could really look at the man in the passenger seat. He looked... he looked like **_Bucky_** , and he looked like the Winter Soldier. There was an expression on his face that Bucky never wore, a hardness to him that Bucky never had, but then... those eyes, the quirk of that mouth... He drew another breath. “How...?”

“Knocked my head.” Bucky shrugged, and the tips of his ears went slightly red, just like they used to when he was a kid and would lie to Steve about stuff. Steve wanted to hug him for the lie, for telling a lie just like he used to. A Bucky Lie. Steve always secretly thought that he should patent that blush, no matter how times he tried to draw the slightly shifty look it never came out just right.

“I can always tell when you lie to me.” Steve pointed out.

“Not lying – I hit my head.” He paused. “I hit it pretty hard.”

Steve waited.

Back when, back in Brooklyn, in their crappy apartment that Steve couldn’t honestly trash talk about because it wasn’t like he paid the rent on the place, all he had to do was wait, and Bucky Barnes who’d spent every Sunday at Church sitting on the other side of Steve’s mom, hair plastered against his head and listening to every sermon with a slight smirk, could never do the same to Steve.

“I slipped in the shower.” He mumbled, and Steve can’t help the laugh that is ripped out of him like the pin in a grenade. “Shut up, Punk, it **_hurt_**!”

* * *

 

“What can I get you?” The waitress smiles at them. She’s older, maybe too old to be a waitress, her grey hair is slipping out of the bun that she would have pinned neatly at the start of her shift, but now, at the backside of the day, Steve and Bucky were the only people in the joint. Her ankles are swollen and her apron has a ketchup stain on the front, and Bucky is sitting on the other side of the booth, and he’s kicking at Steve’s foot like he used to do when they were kids sitting at the well scrubbed table at the orphanage. Steve wanted to keep the memory forever. He knew he was grinning too wide. He knew he probably looked the wrong side of manic, and he knew that Bucky looked liked trouble, and Steve couldn’t remember when he’d been so happy.

“Do you double portions?” Bucky asked, when Steve couldn’t stop grinning enough to answer. He just couldn’t keep his eyes from sliding over the man in front of him.

“Sure do.” She smiled.

“Two doubles of the house special then, ma’am.” Bucky winked, “And two classic cokes.”

“Can you make mine a diet?” Steve asked, his voice easily betraying just how happy he was. He sounded like he was 12.

“I just ordered enough food to feed half the army, and you want a diet soda?”

“I’m watching my figure.” Steve grinned, hugely, and that got him a swift kick under the table. “I like the taste better.” He laughed. “Quit kicking me.”

The waitress shook her head at them, and smiled. “Army discount.”

“We’re not in the army anymore.” Bucky told her. He was wearing a black t-shirt; his metal arm was glinting in the lighting.

“Still applies,” She smiled. “Don’t think I don’t know when I got a couple’a national icons sittin’ in my section.”

* * *

 

They made a lot of noise. Steve wasn’t even trying to stop his laughter anymore, and Bucky seemed to be making a point of trying to get him to laugh louder and louder. The more they talked, the broader their accents got. He re-told Gladys (they’d told her to put her feet up and get some rest, they weren’t gonna tell no one) stories of their time at the front, making her laugh and Steve blush – he deliberately made each of their exploits more dangerous and added ‘extra character’ with red lipped femme fatales or bumbling German spies, making half of it up and embellishing so much Steve had to step in at some points.

“I never punched a T-Rex, Buck.”

“I’m pretty sure you did.” Bucky winked. “Knocked it right out, too.”

Gladys’ smiled indulgently at them both. “You boys are too much.” She told them, getting back on her feet. “I don’t remember the last time I laughed so hard.”

“Me either.” Steve replied, and Bucky’s foot was pressed against his ankle and Steve wanted to remember everything so much it hurt.

They gave a hefty tip, and kissed the aging woman on the cheek as they left.

* * *

 

The motel was one of those faceless chains that Steve hated. The bored teen at the desk didn’t even look at Steve’s ID, just threw a key on the counter and took the cash without breaking his gaze from the TV, where an overly muscled man with a deep tan was talking earnestly to the camera. Steve wasn’t a fan of the reality TV shows, so he had no idea what was playing.

Bucky had Steve’s duffel and his own smaller backpack in his hands, standing outside waiting by the car.

The room was pretty much identical to every other room they’d rented.

* * *

 

“We should push the beds together.” Bucky said, throwing the bags onto the chair that sat in the corner. “Like when we were kids.”

“Don’t you think we’re a little old for fort building?” Steve asked, but he was already walking towards the bed to do what Bucky suggested.

“Speak for yourself, old man.” Bucky grinned. “You’re the oldest here.”

“I’m only a year an a half older than you, Bucky.”

“Still oldest in the room.”

“You’re nearly 90.” Steve pointed out, giving the bed a quick push. It didn’t budge.

“Put your back into it.” Bucky snorted, kicking off his shoes, making no move to help. “What’s the point in all the muscles if you can’t move a cheap motel bed?”

Steve pushed hard, and... Nothing. He frowned, and flipped up the sheet to peer under the bed. “They’re screwed down.”

“I’ll fix it,” Bucky shrugged. “Go shower.”

* * *

 

The beds were pushed tightly together when Steve came out of the small bathroom, already wearing the t-shirt and short set that he’d picked up when they’d stopped at a Wal-Mart to get Bucky some clothes. The room was already too warm, because Bucky kept jacking up the central air – Steve automatically put it down as he passed. He’d been waking up in his own sweat for weeks.

The pillows were already pushed way up to the headboard, just the way Steve liked, he still hadn’t gotten used to the softness of modern bedding.

“All yours.” He said, nodding towards the bathroom. “Try not to fall on your ass this time.”

Bucky shoulder checked him as he walked past. “Jeez, Cap, quit thinking about my ass all the time.”

Steve managed to hide his blush (he hoped) with a snort of laughter. “You wish, Sarge.”

“Maybe.” Bucky shrugged, and shut the door to the bathroom, leaving Steve standing there not exactly sure what that meant.

He was pretty sure he knew what he **_wanted_** it to mean, but he’d been Bucky’s best friend for a long time, and he knew that he’d flirt with anything on two legs – it wasn’t the first time he’d cracked a joke like that to Steve, and it just Steve that always made it into something it wasn’t. Steve needed to stop thinking of Bucky like that. He’d known the man for over 80 years, his awkward... crush... should be nearing its end soon.

* * *

 

Steve was already under the stiff blankets when Bucky left the bathroom, swirls of steam pouring out into the room because he abused the plentiful hot water of the 21st century like a man who’d spent his entire life rationing heat. Steve still felt guilty about things like that.

Bucky was wearing only the shorts of his new PJ’s, and Steve rolled his eyes at him as he towel dried his hair. “You’d not have to crank the heat up if you wore more clothes.” He groused, as Bucky’s metal hand spun the thermostat up high again.

“And deprive you of all this?” He laughed, waving a hand over his torso.

“I’m sure I’d survive.” Steve said, although he couldn’t stop his eyes from tracking the movement.

“Ah, well I’m sure you would.” Bucky nodded. “But it’s not really **_living_** , is it?” And then threw his damp towel at Steve’s face when he rolled his eyes again.

“Nice, Buck.” Steve groused, pulling the damp towel from over his face just in time to see Bucky crank the heat up even more. “Come on, Bucky, I don’t wanna wake up covered in sweat again.”

“Worse things to wake up covered in.” Bucky shrugged, before bouncing onto the bed, which creaked alarmingly.

* * *

 

It didn’t take long for them to settle into that warm, pre-sleep heaviness. Steve was already getting too hot under the thin blanket – and Bucky laying behind him was throwing off heat like a furnace.

“You sleeping, Stevie?”

“No Buck.” Steve sighed. He’d forgotten this part of Bucky’s personality. It was nice to be annoyed by his best friend again; he’d forgotten that Bucky fought sleep like a toddler. With the serum in his veins he needed less sleep – but he still needed **_some_** – and Steve always did like to curl under the covers, sleep or not.

“You think we could go to a ball game tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Steve nodded. “We’ll need to find one.” He closed his eyes.

“Can’t be too hard. Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“We aint got nowhere to be.” Bucky sounded content. Steve was content to lay there and listen to Bucky be happy. “We could do loads of the stuff we always said we’d do.”

“Mm?”

“I think we should.” Bucky said. His voice wasn’t heavy with sleep anymore, and Steve wanted to smother him with a pillow. “Remember when we’d tell each other what we were gonna do after the war was over?”

“Yeah, Bucky.” Steve nodded, keeping his eyes closed. “Marry sisters and live next door.”

“With a dog each.”

“And teach our kids to play ball.”

“We aint gonna do that though, are we?” Bucky said after a moment. “Cause now it’s just us – an’ we can do whatever we want.”

“I wanna sleep.” Steve told him. He could feel Bucky huff out a laugh, and then the movement of the body beside him, so that suddenly Bucky was pressed all along his back.

“I don’t wanna get cold.” Bucky breathed. “I don’t wanna wake up and not remember again.”

Steve’s heart thudded painfully in his chest. “If you wake up an you don’t remember – I promise I’ll sock you right in the jaw.” Steve said after a while. “I’m pretty sure I can hit to hard enough to knock some sense into you.”

“Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t think that’s **_ever_** been possible.”

* * *

 

Steve woke up on fire.

His clothes were stuck to him with a layer of sweat, the blanket damp and clinging to his skin – Bucky was plastered to his back, the heat of his skin like a hot water bottle. Not only that, but his body had betrayed him in the worst way – his dick was hot, pushing hard against the damp sleep shorts he was suddenly very pleased he was wearing.

He’d die; really **_die_** , if Bucky woke up to find Steve like this. It had happened a few times when they were kids, and Bucky never knew about it – because Steve knew he was broken and the shame of it was enough to kill any arousal.

But it seemed that willing it away wasn’t going to be an option with the serum in his veins. He felt trapped. He knew what a light sleeper Bucky was, if he moved, he was going to wake him, and if he woke him to go to the bathroom, Bucky was going to **_see_**.

He wanted to cry.

“You okay Stevie?” Bucky muttered into the back of his neck. “You’ve gone all tense.”

“M’good, Buck, just go back to sleep.”

“Sorry about this.” Hot breath on the back of his neck caused another trickle of sweat to work its way down his back, “It’ll go away in a bit.”

Steve nodded slightly, and then blushed hot and red, because Bucky knew he was... hard... and he wasn’t mad at him. “This hasn’t happened before.” Steve found himself saying. It was a lie, but it was dark and Bucky couldn’t see his face to tell if he was lying.

“Happened all the time.” Bucky argued, which made Steve feel even worse. “You were such a deep sleeper you never noticed before.”

Shame burned deep into Steve’s bones, because the idea that he’d been like this in his sleep and Bucky never once said anything – all those nights in their crappy apartment with no heat – all those times packed in tight together trying to stay warm, and Steve’s body had betrayed him without him even knowing...

“Sorry Buck.” He mumbled, pushing his face into the mattress.

“You want me to move the beds back?” Bucky asked, as Steve’s heart dropped to his feet. He understood though, Bucky wouldn’t want to sleep next to an invert.

“If you want to.” He managed, voice steady. “I’m sorry, Bucky.”

There was a moment, a moment where Bucky didn’t move at all, and then Steve felt the nod, and the ‘Oh, okay.’ That sounded more hurt than Steve ever remembered Bucky sounding ever.

Then he moved, and Steve was suddenly hyper aware that the heat pressed hard into his back wasn’t Bucky.

Well, it was **_Bucky_** , but it wasn’t... it was... “Bucky?”

“Sorry, I’m going.”

“I thought you were talking about me.” Steve hissed quickly, because, holly hell, Bucky was **_hard_**. He was hard, pressed hard into Steve’s back and he was never going to get that out of his head ever – his own dick hardened even more.

“I was,” Bucky said, pulling away.

“No, I mean...” Steve said, twisting a little so he could look at Bucky. “I thought you were talking about me.” He waved a hand at his own body. “I thought you were squicked at **_me_**.”

Bucky stopped moving completely, frozen in the moment of moving to the other side of the bed. “You hard, Steve?” His voice sounded strained, tight, like he was about to snap, and quiet. So very quiet, like he didn’t want to be overheard. Not that there was anyone to overhear – but Steve understood. They grew up in the 40’s. Some things you kept as quiet as possible.

“I’m sorry Buck. I swear,” Steve swallowed, feeling like a shamefaced kid once again kneeling in the confessional. “I swear I wasn’t gonna do nothing.”

“Jesus, Steve, are you trying to fucking kill me?” Bucky groaned, before throwing himself hard onto his back, bouncing slightly.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Steve whispered. “I know you aint like that.”

Several seconds past, and if Steve wasn’t able to see the slight glint in Bucky’s eyes from the light outside the window, he’d have convinced himself that he’d fallen back to sleep.

The silence went on for several moments, before Bucky’s head turned to look at Steve, eyes flashing like a cat. “You like that?” He asked, voice a breath.

Steve wasn’t sure if he should lie. In the dark, just Bucky there, like it had been for so much of his life, he wasn’t sure if lying would make it easier, or just compound the sick feeling in his gut. Steve never thought he was a coward, but the idea of losing Bucky again, over something he’d kept hidden for so long, scared him. But... Steve never backed down from a fight in his life (backing down from Bucky didn’t count, he’d never willingly fight **_Bucky_** ) and he wasn’t going to start with something that was a part of him.

“I guess.” He managed after a length of time that probably was all the answer Bucky needed to know. “I only ever look though.” He said, fast on the heels of his confession. “I never kissed anyone but Peggy, so I’m not... I’m not really...”

“I used to get drunk down at the Pearl sometimes.” Bucky whispered, cutting over his ramble. Steve knew the Pearl – knew **_of_** it, at least: the queer bar by the docks that Bucky worked. He knew that guys used to put on dresses, and if anyone saw you leave you’d be picking up your teeth in the alley. It was the 40’s, and some things you just didn’t do – and boys kissing boys was one of them.

“You never said.” Steve whispered back. He wasn’t sure how to take the news that Bucky was off getting drunk at a queer bar while Steve was trying desperately to bury his own feelings.

“I didn’t want to squick you.” Bucky shrugged. “And girls was easier, you know?”

Steve nodded, because Bucky could get a girl with just a smile and sly look – he could get a girl for **_Steve_** with that same smile, and that was saying something. “If I’d known you weren’t gonna be weird I’d have taken you to the Pearl with me.” Bucky whispered. “If you wanted.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded, scooting closer. “You could have worn that blue tie that matched your eyes, and I’d have worn my grey suit, and we’d have cut a rug.”

Bucky was smiling, and Steve smiled back. They’d done this a lot, when they had nothing, they’d lay in bed and talk about what they were gonna do, or what they should have done – made believe that things were how they should be. “I’d have to tell em you were my fella though.” Bucky pointed out, quietly.

“You’re chasing away all my chances.” Steve sighed. “You do it enough with dames, and now you’re doing it with all the guys too?” He grinned, rolling his eyes. To be able to talk to Bucky about this was... it was something else, and Steve felt like something in his chest was flying – a weight that he’d not even known he’d carried on his shoulders suddenly gone.

“If I’d taken you to the Pearl you’d have been my fella.” Bucky said, frowning. “Cause that’s how it works. You’d be mine and I’d be yours, and no one would bother us.”

“What if someone did?” Steve asked. “What if some guy got sweet on me?” The idea that someone might have wanted Steve back then was nice, unlikely, but nice.

“I’d punch him in the jaw.” Bucky glared. “No one touches my fella.”

“I aint a dame that needs protecting.” Steve pointed out.

Bucky leaned in close, like he had a secret, and Steve felt the warmth of Bucky’s breath only inches from his face, hot. “I know that, Stevie,” Bucky smirked. “Cause if you were a dame I’d have been your fella from the start.”

Steve was sure, he was pretty sure, that this was Bucky **_flirting_** with him. He’d heard that tone of voice, and seen that smile, pulled on more girls that he cared to remember, and the idea that Bucky was using those tricks on him was... nice. More than nice, if he was being honest – but worrying. Worrying because he knew Bucky never lasted out of a girl for longer than a fortnight tops, and it would be Steve that got jilted at the end of it.

“You’d only be my fella until someone better came along.” Steve said after a beat. “You forget I know you well enough to know that.”

He wasn’t expecting Bucky to shove him back, he wasn’t expecting the growl, or the way he grabbed and pushed so that suddenly Steve was on his back and Bucky was pinning him hard to the mattress, and leaning down so close that their lips were almost touching. Shock froze him in place.

“You’re a stupid punk if you think there’s anyone better than you.” Bucky growled at him. “You’ve always been the best thing I’ve ever had.” He glared at Steve in the darkness. “And if you were mine you’d **_stay_** mine.”

Steve wasn’t sure who moved that extra inch. It could have been him, but the next thing he knew, Bucky’s mouth was on his, and they were kissing.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Steve might have thought that kissing Bucky would be sweet. Soft. He’d told Steve often enough about the girls he’d petted, telling Steve how when it was his turn to kiss a girl he’d need to know how. Soft, like she’s made of glass, like she might smash, and cut you.

But kissing Bucky wasn’t like that at all. He was hard, teeth and hot breath and pushing and **_fantastic_**. Steve didn’t even need to think about where to put his hands, because he was trying to put them everywhere. Bucky wasn’t wearing a shirt, which meant every part of him that Steve gripped was hot, damp skin, glorious and miles and miles of it. Bucky was gripping Steve tight, much tighter than he needed, his flesh and blood hand fisted in his hair, and the metal one digging into his shoulder, as though any moment Steve might try to pull away.

There was no way Steve was going to try to pull away from Bucky. In fact, he was pretty sure if Bucky tried to pull away he’d have a hard time getting out of Steve’s own grabbing hands.

Bucky was biting, licking – pulling and pushing with every breath, tongue sliding against Steve’s with no finesse at all.

Steve’s erection, which had been starting to ease off with their conversation, was pushing up against Bucky’s backside while Bucky rolled his hips against the hard lines of Steve’s stomach where he was straddling Americas Darling – Steve could feel the heaviness of Bucky’s cock through the shorts, the slightly damp patch hitching against his tense stomach.

Their skin was already slick from the heat of the room – Steve was sure he’d never been so near to burning up in his life – not even the numerous explosions that had singed his hair or burning buildings he’d run through were as hot as Bucky Barnes pressed against him.

He became aware that the little huffs of air he’d been grabbing had become all out moans – too loud in the darkness – and tried to swallow them whole. He had to make sure no one could hear – the walls were so thin, and people knew it was just two guys in the room.

Bucky groaned into his mouth as Steve’s hand ghosted over his torso, fingers brushing against the pockmarks of scars that he didn’t want to know about, running over the seam of his shoulder and the metal arm that held him in place.

“Shh,” Steve whispered, urgently as Bucky groaned again, the damp patch on his shorts getting bigger with each roll of his hips. “People are gonna hear.”

Bucky paused, pulling away only slightly from Steve’s mouth. “No one cares, Steve, it’s not like when we were kids.” He grinned wickedly in the dark. “I wanna hear you.” He rolled his hips back, pushing his ass against Steve’s tented shorts, and the groan that was punched out of Steve was much louder than he’d expected. “Fuck.” Bucky groaned, head dropping to rest on Steve’s shoulder. “You sound... **_fuck_**...”

Hearing Bucky’s voice hitch over the last word, the shudder that went through his body – the unintentional roll of his hips into Steve was like a damn bursting inside Steve.

He grabbed two handfuls of Bucky’s ass and held him in place as he pushed up; the thin material of their sleep shorts not much of a barrier to his imagination – groaning loudly. If Bucky wanted to hear Steve, Steve was going to make sure that he had something to hear.

It was over embarrassingly quick for Steve. He’d been holding everything back for most of his life, his long standing infatuation with his best friend that was suddenly, shockingly real, ensured that any hope of maintaining his composure was impossible – after three perfect thrusts against Bucky his body locked down, his orgasm ripped through him like lightning, white hot and perfect.

When he came back to himself, Bucky was grinning in the night, wetness from his own release seeping through his shorts and onto Steve’s heaving torso.

“Shuck the shorts, Cap,” He said, after a moment. His voice sounded relaxed, as blessed out as Steve was feeling. “Give me a half hour and I’ll be good to go again.”

“Speak for yourself.” Steve sighed. “I think you broke me.” He couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so... at ease. Not ever.

They managed to get their shorts off before Steve closed his eyes, and didn’t open them till the sun broke through the thin shades at the window.

* * *

 

Steve woke up feeling loose limbed and warm, a smile working its way over his face as his mind caught up with what had happened through the night.

“You look pretty pleased for a fella who fell asleep on his date.” Bucky’s voice said, sounding more than a little smug.

Steve grinned harder. “Not my fault,” He said, rolling over so that they were facing one another. Steve had always been the little spoon, and some things would never change, even if he was now technically the bigger of the two. Bucky was leaning on his arm, eyes tracking over Steve as he moved. “My date shouldn’t have woken me up in the middle of the night.” He realised that they were both naked, and his cock gave an interested twitch, seconds before his stomach growled dangerously.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky snorted, before laughing at Steve’s bashful expression. “Alright, showers and then breakfast.” He said rolling his eyes.

* * *

 

“Morning Boys.” Gladys smiled as the bell dinged over the door as they walked in. She looked neatly pressed, and Steve knew it was only just after 8 in the morning, and they’d left pretty late the night before.

“You live here?” Bucky asked, kissing her cheek like he’d known her his whole life. “Tell me you got some sleep.”

She rolled her eyes at him, which made Steve smile. Tony made fun of him and his ‘aw shucks’ attitude, but he forgot about Bucky – the way he flirted with any dame over forty and got away with it because it was always non-threatening. Tony wouldn’t know how to react to Bucky, Steve was sure.

“You boys go sit down and I’ll have something made up for you.” She said, swatting at Bucky good-naturedly.

Bucky winked and Steve smiled, slipping into the same unoccupied booth from the night before. Bucky sat closer than before, his leg pushed up against Steve’s. “You think we can find a ball game today?” He asked, as Steve tried not to blush. Bucky was too close – he’d not been out of arms reach since Steve had woken up, even standing in the bathroom while Steve showered. He wasn’t sure if he should say anything about it – he’d spent the last two years without Bucky in his life, and it was two years too long. The idea that Bucky had spent longer without Steve just hurt.

“I guess.” He shrugged.

“An once we’re done with that, we can head back to the hotel and work on enjoying Americas favourite pastime.” Bucky winked.

Steve felt his face redden.

He still nodded.

**Author's Note:**

> So...  
> Sorry! I've had this kicking around the PC for ages and I thought I'd better post it while I have the motivation.  
> Although this will be a multi-chapter story, updates will be sporadic.  
> Each chapter will be a square from my kink bingo card (I will warn about content before each chapter, but FYI: There will be **no** non-con, multiple partners or underage stuff) that I've been wanting to try my hand at writing.  
> If you like it let me know, if you hate it... well... that's cool too.
> 
> Also, expect both boys to bottom - if that's not your thing, best not to read on!


End file.
